Number 3
by MissMadame2112
Summary: 28-year-old Margaret O'Hara lives in 221c with her daughter and pets. She's a piano teacher who seems to be all past and no future. But anyone can have secrets. Anyone can be great. That doesn't mean anyone has to know about it.
1. Chapter 1:John

_**Okay, so this is my first chaptered fic. I'm really excited. The fist chapter is kinda boring, but it'll get better. **_

_**Disclaimer: I unfortunately do not own Sherlock or Peanuts.**_

It started with a mouse.

It would have started eventually, rodent or not, but truthfully, it started with a mouse.

John Watson found it amongst his many boxes of tea, just sitting quietly, not nibbling or making a mess. As a matter of fact it was so docile John started an internal debate on whether to kill it or not.

So, as with most problems, he went to Sherlock.

And, to John's great shock, Sherlock deduced that the mouse was domesticated.

"Most likely belongs to the new tenants upstairs," he said, allowing the mouse to climb onto his hand.

John rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "They've been here for seven months, Sherlock. You should really say hello, maybe get to know someone new for once. Margaret O'Hara is nice. A bit dull maybe but…"

"You went up once when they moved in, and you only met that piano teacher, Ms. O'Hara. That hardly counts as getting to know someone."

The truth was, neither Sherlock nor John had any reason too socialize with the O'Hara's, Margaret and her daughter Gracie. They were not particularly bothersome. Oh, there was a bad note audible here or there, and an occasional encounter with Margaret's students (either Alexander or Marie), but on the whole, the O'Hara's did not much affect the lives of either man.

Or at least that was what John thought.

At the moment, the doorbell rang.

John loped over to answer it, leaving Sherlock in the kitchen.

"Hello!"

A scrawny child, her black hair cut chin length, stood outside in an Einstein t-shirt and jeans. She stuck out her hand.

"I'm Gracie O'Hara, I live upstairs. I was wondering if you found a mouse. I lost mine."

"Yeah…" John said, temporarily overwhelmed by Gracie's lightning fast testimony. Shaking her hand, he elaborated.

"I found one in the cupboard. Care to come in?"

Gracie shot him a gap-toothed grin and darted inside. "Sure! Hey! I know you! You write a blog."

John nodded, a grin slowly spreading across his face.

"How old are you, Gracie?" John asked.

"10. Mom says she's 10 million, but I know she's 28."

John laughed a bit at Gracie's direct tone.

"What school do you go to?"

"I'm homeschooled. It's much more interesting. I'm building a catapult. You should see it sometime."

Sherlock came out of the kitchen, still holding the mouse. Gracie caught sight of it.

"Yep, that's Schroeder."

The girl scooped her pet out of Sherlock's hand.

"I have three other mice: Lucy, Linus and Charlie Brown. We also have a cat called Shoebox. Isn't that a weird name? We got him from a shelter and they said they found him in a shoebox. Thanks for finding Schroeder, by the way."

"No trouble." John said.

"I'd love to stay, but my music lesson is in two minutes." Gracie said, heading towards the door.

"What do you play?" John asked.

"Tenor Saxophone… Bye!" And Gracie left, closing the door behind her.

John turned to Sherlock, a slightly surprised grin on his face.

"I think we just met Gracie O'Hara."

_**Review! How will I know you like it if you don't review? Also, your homework: There is something suspicious hidden in the chapter. What do you think it is? Muwahaha. Include that in your review. I'll try to post soon. **_


	2. Chapter 2:John

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or The Music Man. **_

Three weeks later, a man was found dead on the sidewalk, killed by two shots to the head.

His name was Emile Greene. Or at least that's what his ID said.

But Detective Inspector Lestrade couldn't find a thing on him. Neither could Sergeant Donovan.

So, as with most problems, they went to Sherlock.

"This ID is false," Sherlock immediately pointed out in the morgue next to the body.

"How would you know that?" Lestrade asked.

"In the picture, his hair is dyed completely blonde. On the body you can see his roots, natural hair color brown. It would take at least two months for the roots to grow out that far. But the date on the card is from last week."

"So he used an old photo on a new format for an ID last week." John said.

"Exactly. Simply moronic execution of a plan."

Lestrade sighed. "So the guy got a 'new ID' last week. Guess we'll have to figure out his real identity before we can start working on finding the killer."

"Give me the file." Sherlock said, "I'll have my Number 3 start working on it."

"Your Number Three?"

"Yes, my Number 3. I'll give her the file."

"Her?" Molly asked, coming in.

"Yes!" Sherlock sounded aggravated, "Her, my Number Three!"

"Wait," John said, "You've started numbering people?"

"I made a list of useful contacts. Hand over the file."

Lestrade handed over the file.

They met Margaret outside the building.

"Hello!" She chirped, her arms full of groceries. "Could you open the door for me?"

John hastened to hold the door.

"Thanks!" She beamed.

Ms. O'Hara was a tiny redheaded woman with an American accent. At 5'2", the woman, raised in Nebraska, as she later told John, wore a blue pencil skirt with a white blouse and jean jacket, her short hair ponytailed and reading glasses hanging around her neck. John was vaguely reminded of Marian the Librarian, a character from a movie he had seen years ago, The Music Man.

Back at the flat, Sherlock immediately departed with the file to give to the mysterious #3.

By the twelfth case solved by #3's files, John began to get curious.

Oh, just in case you were wondering, #3's file told John and Sherlock that Emile Greene's real name was Harrison Redmond, he had lived in Norfolk, and he had cheated on his now ex-wife Lillian 12 times. He had divorced her a month ago and had been kicked out of his girlfriend Amelia's apartment on the night of his death/

Oh, and it also included a recording of Lillian Redmond's full confession for shooting her ex-husband.

The next eleven cases weren't solved by #3; Sherlock did that. But the information was always beneficial, always included some juicy secrets, and was always cross-referenced and 100% true.

"You really should tell me who #3 is, Sherlock," John prompted one night.

"I've specifically told her not to tell anyone, so don't put a note in any of the files. Figure it out." Sherlock replied from where he was lying in his robe with his head on the floor and his feet on the couch cushions.

"You're really enjoying this aren't you Sherlock? I can't just _figure it out_." John said annoyed.

Sherlock plunked his violin string. "I've already given you everything you need."

John sighed and rolled his eyes, but sat down and began to ponder.

#3. What an odd number to choose. #3…#3…

Suddenly a smile spread across John's face.

Sherlock had mentioned that he had made a list of useful contacts and #3 was well, #3 on the list.

Inwardly applauding himself, John went over to the computer and typed **List of Useful Contacts** into the documents folder, only to come up blank.

John groaned and leaned back in his chair. What else would Sherlock call his useful contacts? Then he had an idea.

If Sherlock could have "arch enemies," then surely he would have sidekicks, or henchmen.

John typed in variants of these, and a document came up under minions.

John clicked on it and a window popped up.

_Enter password to open file. _

John rubbed his temples.

"Sherlock," He called, "What's your document password?"

"Think, John, think. Figure it out!"

John scowled, then thought, and thought, and thought, and finally typed up a document, printed it, put it in a file, and put it on the bottom of Sherlock's pile marked, "For #3."

John would find #3's identity, even if he had to use #3 herself. 


	3. Chapter 3:John

The file came back 24 hours later. John snorted at the revealed passcode.

onlyamoronwouldtrytobreakint omyfiles

John had expected some genius code, not this.

Included in the file was a note in nice cursive.

_The password to all of the files of Sherlock Holmes. Knock yourself out._

_Have fun, _

_#3_

John hastened to the computer. Sherlock was out, probably doing something to disturb everyone on the tube.

Finding the file again, John typed in the passcode.

Onlyamoronwouldtrytobreakint omyfiles

The document popped up.

**Minions**

**#1. My brain**

**#2. John Watson**

John closed his eyes and breathed, half preparing himself to solve the mystery (ok, he was a little touched at being number 2)

In true poetic license, he decided to read #3 last.

**#4. Molly Hooper**

**#5. Lestrade**

**#6. Mycroft Holmes**

Finally he looked at #3.

**#3. Margaret O'Hara**

U FIGURED IT OUT YET? The text read.

M. O'HARA was the reply.

COME UP TO 221C

-SH

John was there 10 seconds later.

Margaret O'Hara opened the door. In the light of John's discovery, to him she looked more poised, smarter, and even a bit more attractive.

"H…hi." John said, "Were you expecting me?"

"Of course." Ms. O'Hara said, smiling at him kindly, "I've just put on some tea, Gracie says that's what you drink. It is, correct?"

"Yeah," John said, stepping into the flat, "Chamomile please, if you have it."

The O'Hara's flat was cluttered. The small piano in the corner was covered with books, the kitchen counter with microscopes and slides, and there was a half finished catapult.

"Hi!"

Gracie O'Hara looked up from where she was reading from a big, cushy old armchair.

"Do you like my catapult? It's not done yet, but you can look at the blueprints."

Sherlock let himself in.

"Ah, John you're here. Margaret was just making us tea."

"Yes I know." John replied.

Ms. O'Hara came in with two steaming cups of tea.

"Go on, sit down," She said.

She hand John the cup of tea and he sat on the couch next to Sherlock, who crossed his legs and accepted the cup Ms. O'Hara handed him. Ms. O'Hara then sank into a straight-backed chair she had carried in from the kitchen and crossed her ankles.

John took a deep breath.

"O.K. Sherlock," he said, "_What _is going on?"

"All of Moriarty's activity recently, especially my name written in his cell, has worried me." Sherlock started.

"I needed somebody who knew Moriarty well to tell me about him, his faults, his likes, his dislikes, everything. And then I remembered. A young woman Ii had met in France four years ago. One who could serve that purpose and also be helpful in my other cases."

"And that person was Ms. O'Hara?" John said incredulously.

"Yes, Margaret." Sherlock replied, almost proudly, "A wonder in espionage."

"That's Mom!" Gracie grinned. Margaret blushed.

"It's not exactly natural talent. I learned from the best." She said, before draining her teacup.

"Who? Sherlock?" John wondered aloud.

Margaret flushed even deeper.

"Sherlock only helped me refine my talents. My true teacher was Christoph…Jim Moriarty."

"Ahhhh." John said in understanding. "Moriarty was your teacher. That's how you know him. "

Margaret looked up suddenly and looked John straight in the eye. "That is only part of my relationship with him. He was my fiancé. We were engaged for four months. I waited four hours at the altar in my wedding dress for him to show up. "

"Oh." This pulled John up short.

"Oh, and did I mention," Margaret smiled, and she had the same look inn her eyes as Sherlock did when he was about to reveal something big and surprising, "Moriarty is Gracie's father."


	4. Chapter 4: Margaret

Ms. O'Hara hadn't cared to elaborate. Neither had Sherlock or even Gracie. So Sherlock had grabbed John's arm and pulled him down to their flat. Margaret breathed a sigh of relief.

"That John man makes me jumpy." She said.

"I like him. He's nice." Gracie informed her. "And he didn't kill Schroeder." She added, going over to feed her beloved mice. "Lucy, Linus and Charlie Brown wouldn't know what to do without him."

Margaret gave a noncommittal jerk of her head as she reached under the couch to gather up their timid, white with brown spots cat Shoebox. She stroked his ears and cuddled him on the couch.

Gracie suddenly stood up straight. "Hey! Can we invite Sherlock and John over to dinner for my birthday?"

"I guess," Margaret shrugged. "Oh! Speaking of your birthday, I have an early gift for you."

She nudged Shoebox off of her lap and went over to the bookcase. Pulling out a book on bicycle mechanics, she slid a certificate from between the pages.

"You know how you were saying you wanted to show off your catapult? Well!" She flourished the certificate in front of Gracie's face. "I signed you up for a young engineers fair. It's next Saturday. Is that enough time to finish your project and get a board together?"

Gracie's mouth went wide along with her eyes for a moment. "Yeah, I can do that."

Margaret's smile faltered. "I mean, if you don't want to you don't have…"

"Of COURSE I want to do it!" Gracie's O mouth was replaced by an ear-to-ear grin. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!"

Gracie gave her mom a hug and dashed to finish her catapult.

Margaret smiled.

"You'll have to thank Sherlock too. He's the one that told me about it."

"He'll be here next Monday, for my birthday, right?"

"Right. I'll text him now."

"And we're getting chocolate cake, right?"

"It's _your _birthday sweetie."

"Okay."

"Are there any kids you'd like to have over?" Margaret asked, grabbing her mobile.

"Nope."

Margaret sighed. "Gracie? When you go to that fair next Saturday, I want you to at least say hi to someone, okay."

"Okay. Thanks mom."

Margaret turned away, typing out a text to Sherlock and musing about how Moriarty could have given her such a gift.

"Are you sure you don't need help with that wagon?" Margaret called at Gracie's retreating back.

"Nope!" Gracie called back, lugging her catapult along. "Bye Mom!"

"I'll come by at 3 to see your presentation. Have fun sweetie!"

"I don't understand." Margaret said to Mr. Clarke, the man in charge of the fair. "Why isn't my daughter presenting? Her schedule said 3 o'clock."

Mr. Clarke sighed and pushed his glasses up as her pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the last time Ms. O'Hara, your daughter never checked in. She is not at the fair."

"Then _**where**_ is she?" Margaret growled.

"No idea. If I were you Ms. O'Hara, I'd call the police." He walked away.

Margaret tearfully checked her phone for messages. There was one. She clicked it.

"Don't call the police." Moriarty said.


	5. Chapter 5: Lila

She had met Gracie in the line to check in, her scale model for a solar powered tractor in hand.

"Whoa," She said to Gracie, "That's a cool catapult!"

"Thanks," The girl had said, "I'm Gracie O'Hara. I'm 10 now, but I'm turning 11 on Monday."

"Lila Ming, " Lila had told her. "I'm still just 10, but my birthday's on Christmas."

"Cool! DO you get extra presents?"

The conversation had gone on and on and on (the line was very long), until a big man laid his hand on Gracie's shoulder.

"If you'll come with me, miss." The man had said.

"Why?'

The man (_he is __**really**__ big_, thought tiny Lila. _I bet he eats a lot of vitamins.) _

"Just a few details about your presentation need to be ironed out. You can leave your project with Miss Ming."

Gracie scrunched up her face, "Can Lila come with me?"

The man gave a rumbling laugh. "No. Miss Ming needs to check herself in. You'll see her inside to pick up your board and prototype. Correct Miss Ming."

Lila shivered and fingered on of her long, dark braids. "Sure Mr."

Gracie sighed and handled her the handle of the red wagon. "See you inside Lila. I can't wait to show you how the catapult works."

Lila smiled shyly. "Okay."

Gracie went, grinning, with the man.

And Lila's new friend didn't come back.


	6. Chapter 6: Margaret

**Hello! I forgot to put a disclaimer on the last few chapters, so here it is. **

**Do you seriously think _I_ own Sherlock? I do not own Sherlock or it's characters, just my OC's and plot. Enjoy!**

It was all Margaret could do not to break down in that room full of people.

"Are you okay?" A person asked.

"Yeah, Yeah, I'm fine. Just…" She registered that the person was male, "…female problems."

The man went to see more boards.

"Don't talk to Sherlock or Watson either." The message had said. "Either try to figure out where your…excuse me… _our_ daughter is yourself, which, believe me, would be very entertaining, or you can meet my demands. To meet my demands, press one. See you darling."

_What the heck am I going to do? _She thought. _I'm a researcher, not a detective. There are no witnesses to the kidnapping that I know of, and the emotional connection will certainly be impairing. _

And then she saw a little girl with long dark braids and a blue sailor dress sitting in the corner, her face buried in her knees that she had drawn up to her chest. Next to her was Gracie's catapult in her red wagon.

"Excuse me?" Margaret strode over and crouched next to the girl. "But where did you get that wagon?"

The girl looked up, her eyes rimmed in red. She had a shiny, slightly tan skin tone of one descended from Asia, and beautiful dark eyes. She sniffled. "Are you the police?"

"Oh, no, I'm not the police." Margaret said quickly. "I'm looking for my daughter. That catapult there was her project."

"You're Gracie's mom?"

Margaret felt a surge of hope. "Yes! Did you see her, where'd she go, why, with who, what happened, tell me…" She trailed off at the look of alarm on the girl's face. "Ummm… what's your name?"

"Lila Ming. I told Gracie her catapult was cool. I thought we were going to be friends…" sobs overcame her then.

Margaret's instincts took over and she pulled the girl into a hug. "Are your parents going to come get you?"

Lila sniffled. "No, my parents are dead. I live at a convent."

Margaret's eyes softened. "Um…Lila…I'd love to talk to you, but not here. Is there someplace you'd like to go? We could take a walk."

Lila's eyes searched her face, looking for a lie.

"Okay." She said.

"I love the lions." Lila said, patting the metal one's great paw. "I like to think they come alive at night."

Margaret laughed despite herself and passed Lila the bag of crisps.

Lila had told her all she knew, and Margaret had shared her information. Now they were trying to ponder, but despite themselves, after convincing Mr. Clarke to put Gracie's catapult in storage, they found themselves in Trafalgar Square with a bag of Baked Lays swapping stories.

"Jim's obviously is doing this for fun." Margaret said. "Otherwise he wouldn't have given me a way out of meeting his demands." Her face clouded over. "Maybe I should find out his demands so I can meet them and we'd have Gracie back soon and unharmed."

"No." Lila said. She blushed when Margaret looked at her. "But, Ms. O'Hara…"

"Maggie." Margaret interrupted, " Call me Maggie, please."

"Okay. Maggie, if you give in, that's like surrendering. I don't know, but you seem like the type of person who fights."

Margaret let out a sound halfway between a sight and a laugh. "All those years alone made you a good judge of character."

"I like to think that."

"Well it's true. You're incredibly emotionally observant."

Lila smiled softly. "And I can hack into computers."

Margaret giggled. "You're wise beyond you're years."

Lila leaned towards her. "Between the two of us we're almost 40."

Margaret smiled slowly "Let's find Gracie."

Lila shook Margaret's offered hand. "Okay."

**I'm going to try and update every Saturday, but it would be great to haave some reveiws to remind me! Bye!**


	7. Chapter 7: Lila

_**Hello! Thanks to **__**Theta-McBride**_ _**for reviewing**__**. So here it is as promised. **_

_** Disclaimer: I do not own **__**Sherlock **_

Lila looked up at her home.

"So this is where you live? It's lovely." Maggie said, taking her hand.

It was a very nice brownstone building, very long and wide, with a big old church next to it on the right. In front was a big old magnolia tree, with a rope swing attached.

Holding Maggie's hand, Lila led her up the steps of the church.

"Lila!"

Lila's friend and teacher Sister Mary Josiah ran towards her, pulling up her habit to dash up the aisle.

"How was the fair?" She asked bending down to look Lila in the face.

Sister Josiah was a tall woman with a young face and blue eyes. She wore her wimple now, but Lila knew from when she wore street clothes when she went out that she had short blond hair. A silver crucifix hung from her neck.

"Um…well, I met someone in line. Her name was Gracie. She was really nice."

Sister Josiah beamed. "That's wonderful Lila. Did you get a phone number? I'm sure …"

"Sister?" Maggie asked from above Lila's head.

"Oh. Hello. I'm Sister Mary Josiah. I'm Lila's tutor."

"Margaret O'Hara." Maggie said. "Lila's friend's mother. Gracie had to stay home and disassemble her catapult, but I told Lila I'd bring her home."

Lila closed her eyes. She and Maggie had created the story they would tell to Sister Josiah. But she had to keep a straight face, or Sister Josiah would know they were lying.

"Gracie and Lila were wondering if they could try being taught to together at my flat. Just for a few weeks, to try learning with other people."

Lila could feel Sister Josiah's torment. She know the Sister loved teaching her, but she wanted Lila to make friends and try to get to know some people.

"Two weeks." The Sister said. "I'll let her go for two weeks."

Lila opened her eyes. Sister Josiah looked sad and happy and oddly determined at the same time, and Maggie looked relieved.

"Well." Maggie said. "I'd better be off. I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8 Lila. Nice to meet you Sister."

Maggie left, her red hair streaming out behind her. She drove off in her little old Ford.

Sister Josiah looked straight into Lila's wide brown eyes with her sharp blue ones.

"So, when did this Gracie get kidnapped?" The Sister said.

_**Just so you know, I am not British and not Catholic, so if I got anything wrong with Sister Josiah, let me know. Or you could just review to remind me to update next Saturday!**_


	8. Chapter 8: John

_**Hi! Let's get right to the point here!**_

For John, the day was as normal as it could get with Sherlock. No cases, but Sherlock was engaged in an experiment at St. Bart's and John didn't expect him home until late at night.

So the day was pretty boring. Regularly on quiet days John would attempt to take his girlfriend out to lunch, but he was currently single, having been broken up with by Jeanette, who apparently couldn't handle Sherlock. That had been nearly a year ago, and Sherlock had kept him so busy he hadn't had time to try and go on a date.

It was 6 o'clock when he heard footsteps on the stairs, lighter than Sherlock's and slower than Gracie's.

"Hey Margaret." John said, leaning against the doorframe.

Margaret pushed her hair back from her face and looked at him. Her skin looked tighter than usual and pale. Her eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under them. She looked about ready to fall into bed and sleep for a week.

"Margaret," John said, worried, "You don't look so good. Would you like a cup of tea?"

The corners of her mouth twitched and she swallowed.

"Sure." She said.

She straightened her shoulders and came inside, and John got the nagging feeling that something was missing.

"Where's Gracie?" He had been looking forward to seeing that girl; her energy made him laugh.

Margaret's shoulders tensed. "France." She said.

"_What?"_

Margaret turned to face him, her face calm. "She's in France visiting my sister Sondra."

John blinked. "Well that's… sudden. I thought she was at the Young Engineer's Fair."

"It was a surprise. Gracie's always wanted to spend her birthday with Sondra. She has a beautiful house in the south of France. It's huge and she had a special "birthday room" only for people on their birthday. She works with the elderly and she likes to cheer them up on their birthdays. Gracie's always wanted to go inside."

John cleared his throat. "Well then, I'll…just…um, get the tea on."

He hustled to the kitchen to make a strong pot of tea and look up Sondra O'Hara online. He clicked on her Facebook page. She lived in a large house in the south of France, worked with the elderly and had a birthday room. Her sister's name was Margaret and she had a niece named Gracie.

So John pottered on around the kitchen, not suspecting a thing.

_**I know John seems like kind of an idiot in this chapter, but I still love the character. Review! What do you think? **_

_**See you all next Saturday!**_


	9. Chapter 9:Lila

_**Here it is! I finally had an idea! However, if any of you still have ideas, I'd love to hear them!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. **_

Lila smelled like Cool Mint gum when she clambered into Maggie's little blue car, dressed in jeans, a red and white striped sweatshirt and a white knit beanie. Her hair was in two long braids, as usual.

"I thought of something over the night." She said and cracked her gum. She then pulled a carefully drawn sketch of the thug who had taken Gracie. "Sister Josiah says I have a very realistic style."

He had a wide face, wide lips, and a wide nose. His ears stuck out and he had a buzz cut and three earrings up his right ear.

Maggie glanced at the sketch and her eyes widened. "Holy Moly! Girl, you should be a police sketch artist!"

Lila blushed. "But how are we going to find him? There must be hundreds of men for hire in London!"

Maggie snorted. "Thousands, my dear Bubblegum. Thousands!"

Lila giggled. "Did you just call me Bubblegum?"

Maggie winked. "You've always got some in your pie-hole. It's a fitting nickname. I've been calling Sister Josiah Mother-of-God."

Lila burst out laughing. "You're lucky Sister has a good sense of humor. But seriously Maggie, how are we going to find this man?"

Maggie revved up the car. "I know a guy."

Lila had never seen anyone who looked less like a pug. But that was his name, Pug August. They met at a coffee shop. He was dressed in a blue pinstriped suit with a thick, tanned, sharp face that reminded Lila more of a pinscher.

"Puggy!" Maggie said.

"Mags." He said evenly. "What can I do you for?"

"We need you to identify this man." Maggie took the drawing from Lila and laid it on the table.

Pug studied the drawing and looked at Lila.

"You draw this?" He asked.

Lila nodded up at him. Pug was 5 foot 9, seven inches taller than Maggie, and Maggie was 3 inches taller than Lila.

"Good." He said. "Very good. You even got his lazy eye."

He looked back at Ms. O'Hara.

"I happen to know the man you want. His name is Russ Moon. He haunt this horrible disco bar" He wrote the address and handed it to Maggie. "He's easy. Just twist his arm a bit."

"Who is he?" Lila asked as they got back into the car.

"Old boyfriend who stayed in touch, member of the secret service with a photographic memory. He's very helpful."

"I'll be back in a few hours." Maggie said. "That's a bad bar. I don't want to risk you. And…well, I'm getting info out of him whether he wants to tell me or not. I need Gracie back. I don't want you to see that."

Lila slumped her shoulders. "Okay. I understand."

Maggie smiled at her. "See you in a bit, Bubblegum." She disappeared out the door.

Lila lounged a bit and played with Maggie's cat Shoebox.

And then came the banging on the door.


	10. Chapter 10: Margaret

_**Sorry for the wait, I've been very lazy. I'm going to try to stick to every Saturday routine, but I can't promise anything. And now, the Chapter!**_

Margaret sidled through the mob in the disco bar, silently giggling at what her mother would think of her getup. She wore a blue mini dress with suntan tights to fake having good legs__and her favorite pair of red heels.

She tugged down the hem of the skirt and scanned the bar. Ah. There he was. Russ Moon. Lazy eye and all.

Margaret swallowed down the bile that had surfaced in her throat and shouldered her way through the slithering mass of people dancing under red lights.

"Hi." She said, sliding onto a barstool next to the big man. "I'm Maggie. Who're you."

Russ Moon smiled with surprisingly good teeth, his eyes taking her in. "Russ. Can I buy you a drink?"

Margaret clenched her teeth behind charmingly smiling lips. "Well aren't you the gentleman? No thanks though."

Russ Moon leaned towards her as if to confide a secret and Margaret struck. With snakelike accuracy she latched onto his arm and dug her nails in and twisted his arm behind his back, slamming his cheek down on the bar. Russ Moon groaned.

"You're a cop!" He growled.

Margaret found herself laughing cruelly. "Far from. Yesterday you took a girl form line at a Young Engineer's Fair. That was my daughter."

Russ Moon grit his teeth, somehow making his face even redder. "I don't believe you. No civilian would get to me that fast."

Margaret dug the heel of her shoe into his toe.

"My kid means the world to me." She said. "You better believe I'm that fast."

She neglected to tell Moon about Bubblegum.

"Now." She whispered. "Where did you take her?"

"I ain't sayin'."

Margaret smiled. Thank God for Pug August.

"Really, Mr. Russ Moon, wanted for Assault-and-Battery, Trespassing, Shoplifting, Breaking and Entering, Destruction of Property, abduction and Theft? I can't go to the police about my problems. I can't tell the police about my problem, but I'm sure they'd be pleased to have you."

Moon bucked, trying to throw her off, but with no success.

"My boss would kill me." He said.

"I know all about Moriarty." Margaret replied. "I can strike a deal with him."

She could feel the cogs in his brain turning.

"Fine!" He snapped. "I brought her to Silver."

"Who's Silver?" Margaret whispered.

'I don't know." He said. "That's what he calls himself. He' s a rich guy, I think. He always wears a suit."

Margaret tightened her grip, but couldn't extract anything else. She let him up and left him with a thick purple bruise on his arm. She left quickly, her mind buzzing frantically, listing possible people who could go by the name of Silver.

Russ Moon was found dead two days later. Someone had slit his throat and horribly stitched it up.

SNITCHES GET STITCHES the blood on the wall read.


	11. Chapter 11: Lila

_**Hello there. I'm sorry I haven't been updating very fast, but here's a chapter now! **_

"John and Sherlock broke in and searched the apartment." Lila said, as Maggie paced, chewing her thumbnail down to the bed.

"Did they find you?" Maggie said, looking alarmed.

Lila cracked her gum and smiled. "Nope. I hid under the bed."

Maggie smiled for a split section then resumed her grim look of thoughtfulness. She continued pacing over the worn space of carpet where she had obviously paced many times before.

"They didn't find nothing." Lila said, trying to sound reassuring, something Sister Josiah was a master at, but Lila could get the hang of. "We're safe."

"For now." Maggie said. "But not for long. Sherlock suspects something, even if John doesn't. We have to figure this out fast, before Sherlock figures out what's going on. I'm surprised he hasn't already."

She threw herself down into the squashy armchair and rubbed her temples.

"We need to find this Silver."

Lila furrowed her brow.

"Have you tried Pug August?" She asked.

"Yes!" Maggie moaned. "There isn't an entire criminal in the whole U.K. that goes by Silver! Not a single damn one!"

Lila sighed through her nose. "Poor Gracie. It's been, what? Three days since she got kidnapped?"

"72 whole hours!" Maggie said. Her breath hitched. "My poor baby." She pinched the bridge of her nose, and, at least it appeared this way to Lila, held back her tears through sheer force of will.

Lila sat, silently watching and admiring Maggie for her strength.

Finally, Maggie looked up. "Have I shown you Gracie's baby pictures?"

Lila shook her head no.

Maggie stood and grabbed a small pink photo album off of the bookshelf before sinking down onto the couch next to Lila. The cover said, BABY PICTURES. The book was clean and well preserved, although it was obviously badly made and said MADE IN CHINA on the back.

Maggie laughed sadly. "I got this at the dollar store after Gracie was born. When Gracie's father didn't show up for the wedding and Daddy disowned me, I went to live with my big sister in France. I worked two jobs, and once I saved up enough money I got an apartment. I got another job to feed Gracie and me. Sondra looked after Gracie most of the time." She opened the album to the first page.

"That's Sondra and Gracie."

The picture showed a young woman, maybe 23, with long black hair and a sharp, pointed face, like Maggie's and Gracie's, holding a tiny baby. The caption, written in Maggie's nice handwriting, read _My savior Sondra and Baby Grace- 6 months. _

The next picture showed a small flat, furnished with the same rug (although considerable less worn and more dirty), patched overstuffed armchair, coffee table with the scratched glass, and stained, yellow couch with split upholstery that were in Maggie's flat today. She only had one bookshelf then, and no piano. She did have a violin on the table and a saxophone and clarinet in the corner. Off to the side was a kitchen table with bricks stuck under two legs because they were two short, and a beat up fridge, stove, oven and sink. There was a door leading off to a tiny bathroom and a scratched and beat up wardrobe. Lila's sharp eyes found a cockroach in the corner of the photo. The only remotely new looking things in the room were a crib, high chair, and changing table.

Maggie smiled a sad smile. "That was where Gracie and I lived. As you can see, I bought most of my furniture at second hand stores, and everything Gracie needed new. I didn't want my baby to get sick from or fall out of an old, rickety second hand high chair."

Lila stared at the dumpy flat. Maggie quickly turned the page.

A picture slipped out from between the pages. Lila, trying to be helpful, bent down and retrieved the photo.

It showed an 18-year-old Maggie, her red hair longer, her figure more defined, her hand on her hip. Her belly was just starting to show. She wore an expensive looking summer dress. Her other arm was around a man's waist. His arm was around her shoulders. He had slicked back black hair and stubble on his chin. He wore a cream colored suit. On her other side, his hands in his grey suit pockets, was a man with short blonde hair and a deep tan. He had a warm, easy going smile. Maggie looked simply radiant and her fiancée, he looked far too much like Gracie to be anyone else, was giving a happy, if smaller, smile. The trio was in Trafalgar Square, where Lila and Maggie had shared a bag of crisps just two days before.

"Oh!" Maggie blushed when Lila showed her the picture. "Well that's me with Jim Moriarty, Gracie's father, and that's Jim's best friend who was going to be our best man, George…"

Her phone, not an iPhone or a Blackberry, just a normal phone for calling and texting, gave a loud _Ping! _to let Maggie know she had a text. She grabbed the phone and went pasty white.

Lila felt a surge of excitement and fear. "Is it Moriarty?" She asked, whispering, although she didn't know why.

Maggie shook her head and handed Lila the phone.

"This is going to complicate things." Maggie said.

Lila lightly took the phone, her stomach twisting itself into knots.

_**Meet me at Scotland Yard. Need your help on a case ASAP. It's a big one. **_

_** SH**_


	12. Chapter 12: John

_**I'm back! Here's an all-new chapter for your perusal.**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock **_

"So you're sure about this woman Sherlock?" Detective Inspector Lestrade said.

They were in the morgue at St. Bart's, waiting just outside where the body was being kept.

"I trust Margaret with some of the biggest secrets in the criminal world." Sherlock replied.

John shifted uncomfortably and checked his watch. Margaret, usually impeccably punctual, was 15 minutes late.

"Sherlock." He said. "Shouldn't Margaret be here by now?"

Sherlock started to answer when Sergeant Sally Donovan poked her head in. Rolling her eyes, she said, "Sir, the freak's girlfriend is here."

John, as usual, felt a dull throb of anger underneath his pleasant attitude for Sally Donovan as well as an overwhelming desire to tell her off, today for not only insulting Sherlock, but Margaret as well. Sherlock sighed.

"Sergeant Donovan, while I see that comment was meant to insult me, you have failed miserably. Ms. O'Hara and I are not involved in any sort of romantic relationship…"

"And I'd like to keep it that way." Margaret interrupted, coming through the glass door, dressed in burgundy heels, black skinny jeans and a black and white striped blouse. Her short red hair was loose.

"Thanks for showing me around, Lassie." She said, a strained smile coming onto her face.

_What _did Margaret just call Donovan?

"Sorry, my name is Sally." Donovan said, a look of confusion flitting across her face.

"Oh. Well I'll just call you Lassie." Margaret patted Donovan's shoulder and strode over to Lestrade. Looking distinctly perturbed, Lass…Sally (John shook his head and reminded himself of Sally's name) left.

Margaret stuck out her hand at Lestrade, who, though he seemed to be in shock, took and shook firmly. "Margaret O'Hara. You must be Son of a Gun."

John held in a chuckle as Lestrade shrugged off his new nickname and responded. "I've heard quite a bit about you, Ms. O'Hara. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Sherlock neglected to tell us how lovely you were."

Margaret blushed. "Yes, Tall One often forgets about physical appearance. It's Doc you want to talk to if you want the physical description. Where's the stiff?"

"In here." Lestrade offered Margaret his arm and they went into the morgue.

John looked at Sherlock's calm face, shocked at Lestrade's easy adjustment to fit Margaret's strong personality.

"Better go in." Sherlock said, standing gracefully. John hoisted himself out of his chair and followed Sherlock in.

"I told you there was nothing wrong with Margaret." John said.

Sherlock just thinned his lips and looked skeptical.

Lestrade and Margaret stood with Molly Hooper next to the table where the body was in a black body bag. Molly and Margaret were shaking hands.

"Oh, Sherlock, I met another one of your, um, _colleagues_ downstairs." Margaret said. "Black hair, kind of constipated scowl. Johnson, or something like that."

"Anderson." Sherlock replied shortly.

Margaret snapped her fingers. "That's it!"

"Are you ready to see him?" Molly asked. "He's rather beat up, just so you now."

"Take her away Kitten." Margaret said.

Molly unzipped the body bag to show a man's face. It was thick and tanned and reminded John of a pinscher. It was heavily beaten, with several purple splotches and fattened, bloody lips.

Margaret took one look at the face and her own turned white as a sheet. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she passed out.


	13. Chapter 13: Margaret

_**Today's a two-fer. Here is another chapter for y'all! **_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock**_

Pug August was dead.

Margaret convinced Son of a Gun, Tall One, Doc and Kitten that she just hadn't seen a dead body in a while, that's why she fainted.

But she would recognize that face in the body bag anywhere.

Pug August.

"We have no idea who he is." Lestrade said. "No ID, his fingerprints are burned off, we ran his picture through a bunch of databases and we can't find him anywhere."

Margaret's mind raced. She had to protect Pug's identity. He put the secret into secret agent. No one could know who he was or what he might have been working on.

"The only thing we have is this note. It was in his pocket." Lestrade pushed plastic evidence bag across the table to her.

"This man didn't want anyone knowing who he was." Sherlock said. Margaret could almost hear his brain working at a thousand miles per hour. "He was meticulous in covering his tracks. This man isn't just some John Doe; he was obviously a very clever man with something to hide. But what?"

Sherlock leapt out of the uncomfortable plastic chair in Lestrade's office and started pacing, a tall, slim man in a black suit. John looked up at him, fascinated.

But Margaret was still deep in thought.

"The only way we'll be able to figure out what he did is to find out who he was, right?" Lestrade asked. "That's where Margaret comes in."

Margaret smiled slightly. Just because she had passed out on his watch they were automatically on first name terms now.

"It will be difficult." Sherlock said. "But I have faith in you Margaret."

Normally this kind of gesture, especially from Sherlock, would have given Margaret the warm-fuzzies. Today it just gave her the cold pricklies. That was a second thing she had to cover up. Margaret had the oddest and most stressful to do list on the planet.

Find her daughter and rescue her from one of the smartest men on the planet.

Cover up the search from one of the smartest men on the planet.

Create a fake name and backstory for Pug August with credible cites and cross-referencing.

She took a deep breath.

"Well, let's take a look at this note shall we?" She said, pulling the bag up to her eyes.

_M.A. _

_Please hurry up. I'm running out of money for food. _

_J.M. _

Margaret closed her eyes. "Well, at least we have his initials now. J.M. That's a start."

All three men, Sherlock's gaze piercing and cold, trying to find her secrets, John's kind and encouraging, Lestrade's slightly relieved, as if he had been expecting her to be a nutcase. She wondered if Lestrade had though John was going to be a nutter when he first met him.

"But who's M.A.?" John asked.

Margaret stayed silent.

Of course, she knew what M.A. stood for. Mi Amore. She knew what J.M. stood for. Jim Moriarty.

Jim had killed her friend Pug August as a warning. Hurry it up or Gracie starves.

_**Thank You so much to my good friend **_PhoenixWing21570 _**who said, "What if the body was Pug August?" What a brilliant idea! I am very grateful. **_


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